Romans & histoires Does Bleach Keep Cockroaches Away

My husband forces me to donate my remaining kidney to his true love. He wants to save her from death by uremia. I try to tell him that I have kidney failure—I'll die if I donate my kidney. However, he roars, "Stop playing your jealous games when Shawna is so gravely ill! Don't you have a heart?" Under his forcefulness, I'm taken to the hospital to get my kidney removed. Ultimately, I die in a corner of the hospital.

At our wedding, my wife's assistant "accidentally" uploaded the wrong photo. The big screen was supposed to display our wedding portraits. Instead, it was a picture of my wife and him in full wedding attire. Their fingers were laced together, their eyes locked in a soft, intimate gaze, looking every bit like a blissfully happy couple. The entire venue erupted in shocked whispers. The assistant froze in shock, acting like he had no idea why he was in the photo. He started panicking, asking if we should just postpone the ceremony. My wife, however, stayed surprisingly calm. She whispered her solution, “Everyone’s here. Postponing now would be humiliating and, honestly, a bad omen. Beside, most people here don’t even know what the groom looks like. Why don’t we just let him stand in for you?” Our friends were dumbfounded. They all thought I’d explode in anger and jealousy after hearing something so outrageous. Instead, I nodded, saying it was actually a great idea. Seeing how composed I remained, my wife looked pleased with herself. She told me that since we were legally married anyway, she’d make it up to me later with another ceremony. However, she seemed to have forgotten one thing: she had just signed the divorce papers.

For four years I was his secretary, and for four years I warmed his bed. I knew everything, from his family business to the secrets he whispered to me at night. But to him, I was nothing more than a toy he could summon whenever he pleased. The moment his first love, Sofia Costa, flew back into the country, he humiliated me without a second thought. He kissed her in a Sicilian church, abandoned me on a rain-soaked road with a gash ten inches long on my calf, and later dismissed me with a cold, cutting line. He said I was someone unimportant, someone he could simply ignore. She waved the tulip plush he'd given her in front of me. "I'm the only one he loves. You were just a stand-in." While I rebuilt my life in Chicago and finally found some peace, this ruthless Mafia don knelt outside my door, eyes red with emotion. "Elena, come back to me." I kicked his hand away with a smile. "Your so-called devotion disgusts me."

My husband insisted that I wear high heels at the company’s annual meeting despite being pregnant. He compared me to his female secretary with a look of disdain. "Can’t you learn from Lucille? She’s eight months pregnant and still comes to work in full makeup, handling her tasks efficiently. If you don’t wear them, don’t go. I’ll be embarrassed!" He even tried to give the high heels to his secretary and take her as his date. Left with no choice, I forced myself to wear them. However, on the balcony, the secretary tripped me, spilling red wine all over me. Limping, I found my husband, only for him to sneer, "Tripping on flat ground? How clumsy!" Furious and pale with anger, I turned to leave. Someone urged him to chase after me, but he only got angrier. "How bad could it be? She’s so timid—she can’t survive without me! Just wait. When the event’s over, she’ll definitely be waiting in the car to drive me home." Alas, he was wrong. I turned and went straight to the hospital for an abortion.

The night before the design competition, my husband took my design draft, promising to secure a patent to protect my work. In the intense competition, my work stood out and won first place. During the award ceremony, I walked on stage wearing the necklace that my daughter and I had made together. Suddenly, my seven-year-old daughter rushed up to the stage, screaming, "Mom, how could you steal Veronica's necklace? That's horrible and embarrassing. Just come down and go home with me."

When Lilly has to watch how her father kills her fiancé, her daughter's father and mate, she makes a drastic decision. She leaves and never comes back. After a long journey she arrives in Lastgrove, a bustling city, far away from the city where she grew up. It's the perfect place, besides being far away from her family, it's also home to a pack of werewolves. After a rocky start, Lilly finds new friends. Lucy and Bruce. Lucy is about to be chosen as Luna by her childhood sweetheart and chosen mate, Dex. And Bruce, the one she carefully opens her heart to. Matters are complicated when it turns out that she has once again been chosen as a wolf's mate. This time it is none other than Dex, the Alpha of the Blood Moon pack. Lilly is in shock. She doesn't want to hurt her new friends, and she doesn't know if she wants to make such a commitment again. Even though she is not sure of herself, it hurts when she notices that Dex also has his doubts. Will they give in to their desires? Or do their doubts get in the way of doing what feels right?

On the night of my 18th birthday, Enzo Vitale holds me by the waist as he coaxes me to take off my underwear. "Good girl. You have a beautiful body, Isabella. Let me take a good look at you." But just when I'm about to reach my climax, the spotlight is turned on. The floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of me becomes a see-through one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror shows the faces of all the guests who are here to attend my birthday party. Soon, the racy video of my lustful side is spread all over Newlyn. My reputation gets flushed down the drain overnight, and yet Enzo's reputation remains unaffected. On the night we break up, he leaves me a message. "Your brother had watched my sister getting kidnapped by others back then. Now, it's your turn to have a taste of what it feels like, Isabella. You owe me this much." My older brother, Marco Rossi, is enraged, to say the least. When he tries to demand an explanation from Enzo, he gets his legs broken by Enzo's bodyguards instead. Marco drags his broken legs home. But on his way home, he gets into a car crash due to severe pain and blood loss, reducing him to a vegetable. In order to afford the daily eight-thousand-dollar ICU bill, I become the most famous stripper in Newlyn. For the next three years, I flit between various nightclubs in Newlyn as well as various men's beds. I've been trading my pride and body in exchange for checks. Three years later, I knock on a hotel room's door as usual. The door opens, revealing a man wearing a custom-ordered dark gray suit. It's Enzo. He's thinner now, and his cheekbones protrude even more. His eyes are as glacial as frozen lakes. I smile brightly at him. "Sir, would you like any special services?"

My younger sister, Rosalind Thorne, stole nine boyfriends from me in a row. I was too terrified to ever fall in love again until Nikolai Volkov proposed to me. He doted on me as if I were a rare treasure. I truly believed I had finally found the one. I thought I was destined to become his Donna, living a life of peace and security by his side. On the eve of our wedding, Nikolai sent Rosalind abroad. Four years into our marriage, I crossed paths with Rosalind at a banquet. A guest smirked. “Nikolai sent you overseas to rot for four years. Don’t you hate him?” Rosalind offered a provocative smile. “He’s the father of my two children. Why would I hate him?” The room suddenly fell deathly silent. “My elder sister is so stupidly naive, believing Nikolai actually despises me!” She sneered, wearing a look of disdain. “The truth is I’ve borne his heirs, lived in his estate, driven his supercars, and spent his money.” As she finished, every single gaze in the room snapped toward me. As Nikolai Volkov’s lawful wife, I knew nothing about what she said. But, I didn’t cry and cause a scene. I simply tapped ‘send’ on the email I had drafted long ago. The reply came swiftly. [You are more than welcome to join my medical team. I’ve been waiting for you.] Staring at the reply, a genuine smile slowly returned to my lips. Nikolai Volkov, from this moment on, you no longer need to pretend to love me.

Everyone knew Elio Carbone, Don of the Carbone family, was a cold-hearted womanizer. He had one rule: never sleep with the same woman twice. But for me, he broke it. The first day after our breakup, he stood outside the old Bianchi estate for a day and a night, his entire security detail in tow, just to win me back. The second day, he flew to Sicily and bought the deed to my family's ancestral estate at auction for triple its value, and had it delivered to me. The third day, he tattooed my favorite flower, the lily, over his heart. The tattoo artist said he refused any anesthetic and didn't make a sound. Later, at a banquet for the Five Families, in front of all the other Dons, he sliced his palm and made a blood oath. He swore loyalty only to Eleonora Bianchi for the rest of his life; if he broke his vow, he would pay with his life. After a year of his relentless pursuit, his devotion finally wore me down, and I agreed to take him back. I truly believed him then. That Elio truly loved me. Until one night. He took me to an underground racetrack to broker a deal with an ally. But in the roaring crowd, I saw a girl, trembling and crying, her clothes in tatters. Ava was shoved to the starting line. She was the wager for the death race. One look was all it took for Elio's face to darken. The next second, he dropped his hand from my waist and, without a word, walked toward the track entrance. I stood frozen, watching his back as he disappeared into the driver's seat of a modified sports car. I used to wake up crying, terrified he would lose his life in one of these reckless races. He had smashed his trophies, burned his marker for the illegal track, and sworn to God he would never again enter such a life-or-death gamble. My hand drifted to my stomach, covering the secret I hadn't yet had the chance to share. His blood oath was broken. And so was I.

The night before our wedding, my fiancée let her so-called "best friend" butcher the gown my late mother had sewn, chopping it into a revealing mini dress. I rushed over with the ruined dress in my arms, ready to demand answers: only to catch their voices through the door: "Imagine him expecting me to wear something a dead woman stitched. What a curse!" Through the narrow gap, I saw my distant, frigid fiancée flushed with color, straddling his lap. "What we did at the bridal shop wasn't enough," she murmured. "Tomorrow, walking down the aisle in this tiny dress you made me, it'll be even more exhilarating." Their lips met. My hand froze against the door, and inside, something broke with a soundless crack. If she longed for thrills, I would grant her some.